


Honeymoon

by sevenlbs



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Food, Honeymoon, M/M, Vacation, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-14 02:39:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16904526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenlbs/pseuds/sevenlbs
Summary: WG fic... not your thing, no need to read :)





	Honeymoon

“Just this once,” John said, nuzzling a kiss into his new husband’s neck. “No cases. No obligations. This restaurant’s supposed to be spectacular. When we get back from France, you can sulk in the flat and fast till the end of time. But I’m not sitting in these incredible restaurants watching you not eat.”

Sherlock sighed. “Fine. But tomorrow we go to the cafe where that fashion designer was murdered last year.”

“Is that the one that serves foie gras?”

“I don’t know.” Sherlock shrugged. “Probably.”

“Deal.”

* *

“Christ,” John said, pushing back from the table. He felt like he could hardly breathe. “I think that might have been the best meal I’ve ever had.”

Sherlock, endearingly flushed with wine, leaned back in his seat. “I have to concur.”

“Now aren’t you glad you actually decided to eat? Purpose of the honeymoon, you know. Vacation.”

“I thought the purpose of the honeymoon was to remove your clothing as often as possible.”

John grinned and signaled the waiter. “Check, please.”

* *

Sherlock was newly obsessed. Baguettes. Gougeres. Coq au vin. Tarte tatin. All of it seemed to taste far better in France than it ever had in England. Which made sense, but Sherlock could never recall having paid attention to the food in France before. He gestured to John. “That place, over there. Their pastry chef is quite famous.”

“I thought you wanted to see the sewers this afternoon.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Who says we can’t do both?”

* *

John sprawled on the hotel bed, watching Sherlock lounge next to him. “God, I don’t want to go back tomorrow,” he murmured.

“We could stay another week.”

“You’re not serious. I thought you’d be crawling the walls by now.”

“Strangely,” Sherlock said, wrapping himself around John, “I find I’ve adapted to this slower pace.”

John snaked an arm around Sherlock’s waist. “I see. Well, I could do with at least a few more days of this.”

“Mmm, excellent. Let’s try that cafe by the opera house tomorrow.”

John gave Sherlock’s waist a squeeze, then chuckled. “Whatever you say.”

* *

“I think I need to slow down a bit.” John put his fork down and slid his hand over his stomach. “I’ve been in denial, but honestly, I can barely button these trousers.”

Sherlock blinked. Now that he looked, John had put on a bit of weight since they’d left. He hadn’t much noticed – his attention had definitely been elsewhere. “You look fine.”

John laughed and patted his belly. “I think ‘well-fed’ is the word you’re looking for.” He quirked an eyebrow. “How about you?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve undone your own trouser button,” John said. “I’m not that unobservant.”

Sherlock huffed. “It’s more comfortable to sit this way, if I’m actually going to eat. The cut of my suits doesn’t really allow much room for a meal.”

John grinned. “I see.”

* * 

John did slow down, in their last week, but Sherlock couldn’t possibly. Only a few days left to sample all the delicacies Paris had to offer – not nearly enough time.

“We can come back,” John assured him. “It’s not far.”

“We’ll be busy. There will always be a case.” Sherlock motioned him toward an open storefront. “Have you seen these eclairs?”

* * 

The last day, they abandoned all plans. The hotel bed seemed the only location worth their time. 

“Let’s order room service,” Sherlock said, sitting up to reach for the phone. From where he was propped up against the pillows, John admired the view, watching muscles shift in Sherlock’s pale back, down to the slight swell at his waist. John squinted, making sure his vision wasn’t tricking him. Where Sherlock’s waist had once disappeared into his hips, it was now beginning to curve outward. John shifted to get a better view. He stared. From the side, Sherlock had the beginnings of a round little belly.

“Merci,” Sherlock said curtly, ending a stream of perfect French and hanging up the phone. He leaned back on his pillow at the head of the bed, then turned to look at John. “What?”

“Come here,” John said, sliding over the messy sheets to prop himself next to Sherlock. “You are human, after all, aren’t you?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

John patted Sherlock’s belly. “This.”

Sherlock looked down. “What? – Oh.” His eyes widened, and then he scowled.

“Don’t look like that. Christ, Sherlock, I’ve been trying to ease a few pounds onto you for years.” John ran a hand down Sherlock’s side.

Sherlock reddened. “It’ll come off quickly.”

“I hope not, actually,” John said. “You look lovely with a bit of a belly.”

“I do not have a belly.”

John bent and licked a kiss from Sherlock’s navel down to his groin. “Mm, I beg to differ.” He planted another kiss as Sherlock squirmed, then grinned up at Sherlock wickedly. “How on earth have you been fitting into your clothes?”

“It’s been somewhat – uncomfortable,” Sherlock admitted. “I’d assumed the laundry here was at fault.”

John’s laugh deepened, and he settled back next to Sherlock. “Well, to be fair, the French are certainly to blame.”

Sherlock blushed again, which was far too adorable for John to stand. “I don’t see why you’re enjoying this.”

“Because you can’t see yourself, that’s why,” John said, his hands roaming over Sherlock’s chest, down to his hipbones. He bent again to kiss the newly soft flesh at Sherlock’s waist. “Unless you don’t enjoy it on me, either.”

“You know I love the way you look.”

John sat back up. “Even now, with a bit extra from our trip?”

Sherlock pretended to study John for a moment. “Especially now,” he concluded, quirking a grin.

“Then let me fully appreciate this new territory,” John said, reaching for Sherlock, “and maybe later, we’ll get you some new trousers.”

“Maybe a shirt, as well,” Sherlock mumbled, tangling himself in John.

“Well, it is Paris.”

“Not quite, I – well, the bottom buttons.”

John laughed, settling a hand again over the roundness at Sherlock’s middle. “Can’t do them up, can you?” He gave Sherlock’s middle a pat. “If we’re buying new clothes, might as well get a few more eclairs, then.”

“Absolutely not,” Sherlock said, but then closed his eyes as John ran a hand over his belly. “—Christ, that feels good.”

“Just a few more.”

“Well – oh, God, John – all right.”

* *


End file.
